To Hesitantly Go
by Ender Mahe
Summary: My name is Scott Ryder, and I signed up for the Andromeda Initiative of "my own free will." I've been transferred to the Pathfinder team, the nutters thrilled about "first contact scenarios" and "exploring new worlds." Fingers crossed one of those brave souls forgot to attach the engines or something and we can all go back home. Wish me luck. We're boarding tomorrow.
1. Andromeda

**Chapter 1: Andromeda**

Journal Entry 1

 _My name is Scott Ryder, and I signed up for the Andromeda Initiative of "my own free will." They told us we needed to record our understanding of the project for the history books, but because dear old dad happens to be rather important, and because I'm a naturally suspicious sort of person, I also happen to know that a "select" number of these are being submitted to the Citadel Council to let the galactic community know that the Initiative isn't brainwashing and enslaving us before making a break for freedom across dark space to play with its toys._

 _Well, you can breathe a sigh of relief, Council—no brainwashing here. The people that signed up for this little one-way trip were already completely and utterly insane._

 _Oh, right, personal reasons for going. Honestly? No other options. And yeah, I get that there are some others like me stuck in the Initiative and not thrilled about it, but we're definitely in the minority. In my case, my mom developed a rare and terminal degenerative disorder. Dad blew all our savings, trashed our reputation, and got us blacklisted trying to find a cure. He developed an AI (which was bad) designed to interact via ridiculously expensive QEC implant (worse), which could theoretically let it mess with your nervous system (aaaand blacklisted). Of course, there are all sorts of safety features to keep Sam on a strict look-don't-touch regimen, but still._

 _And between the AI now in my brain (you can bet dad didn't explain just how invasive_ that _procedure was going to be beforehand) and the omnitool surgically implanted in my left arm, and you start to wonder exactly where the threshold of cyborg is. Anyway, that's dad's AI, S.A.M., now universally referred to as Sam._

 _So, the Alliance found out, freaked out, and dishonorably discharged him and blacklisted the whole family. For him it's this or life in prison. And I still don't know how his friends in the Initiative pulled that off. Suddenly the three of us are without a job, without mom, and running out of friends fast._

 _That's when dad announced all three of us had joined something called The Initiative (Thanks for asking, dad!), a vaguely secretive, definitely sketchy bunch looking for nutjobs to hit cryo for a couple centuries and wake up in the neighboring galaxy. Where, of course, even if we get some sort of foothold, we'll all die out in a generation or two because the entire base population is made up of risk-takers, thrill-seekers, and those that had to run all the way to the next galaxy to get away from their problems._

 _Real recipe for success there._

 _As for my twin sister, Sara, she's ecstatic about the whole idea. Insane people, remember? And then there's me. Of course I said yes, in the end. This is dad we're talking about here. I was trying to make a career of it in the Alliance, working security and tech support guarding a mass effect relay, about as quiet as it gets, but after dad's . . . misadventures, that's a dead-end with a lot of "quiet conversations" going on among my superiors. No credits, no translatable skills, and honestly no idea how to start a business. So, it was either go it completely alone, assuming dad would even allow that, or sign on to this Initiative, and try to save up enough money to get back out before they actually leave._

 _I held out as long as I could, only signing on right near the end. Dad, of course, wasn't about to let me get away with just being a colonist or in admin or something. No, I needed to be more squarely under his jurisdiction, so surprise surprise, I've been transferred to the Pathfinder team, the nutters thrilled about "first contact scenarios" and "exploring new worlds." Nobody seems particularly concerned that we already did that not very long ago, and oh yeah, that our little scuffle with the exoskeletoned, avian turians was called the "First Contact War." But there it is._

 _Fingers crossed one of those brave souls forgot to attach the engines or something and we can all go back home. Wish me luck. We're boarding tomorrow._

 _Scott._

Scott sat up slowly, head woozy and eyes blurry. He blinked, trying to pull himself together. He kind of remembered going to sleep, something about . . . but no, they hadn't left yet, he was still in the cryo bay. And there was ice lining most of the pods. Ice from long-term buildup of microscopic pod leaks. The kind that built up only after years.

"We made it . . . damn."

He tried to stand, but one of the two technicians approaching grabbed his shoulder. "Easy there, deep breaths. You're going to want to take it slow."

The other technician wasn't actually looking at him, instead reading from her datapad. "Ryder, Scott. Recon Specialist, Pathfinder Team."

The man perked up. "Pathfinder team, eh? The ones finding us a home."

"Can you make it somewhere tropical? Nice warm ocean, summer year-round?"

"How about we get him a cup of coffee first?"

The two chattering techs grabbed him under each arm and eased him to his feet, talking easily and smoothly about nothing, probably to help him transition back to the living after, what, 600 years in stasis. Okay, _maybe_ it was completely natural and unscripted. Maybe.

Either way, they walked him out of cryo proper and into the small medical bay with lots of other (purely coincidentally) equally chatty techs and a handful of nurses checking over the newly awakened, supervised by a lone asari doctor. It took a while to maneuver him to a waiting chair, and longer still to communicate that he did not, in fact, like coffee, after which they scrounged up some sort of stimulant, shot him in the arm with it, and left him to recuperate. Scott tuned out the noise, instead focusing on the soothing propaganda vid playing in the background, trying to collect his thoughts. _A little late on the sales pitch, we're already here. And any more Arks are 600 years away from arriving. It's not like we can back out now._

"The selection process saw the Andromeda Initiative evaluate thousands of potential habitable planets within the galaxy. Of those, the Initiative selected—"

"Scott Ryder? Let's get you checked out."

He looked up to see the asari doctor. Well, wasn't he special?

"Look here," she swept her omnitool's scanner over him while the video droned on.

"After discovering an unusually high ratio of potential candidates, or 'golden worlds,' the Heleus Cluster was selected as our destination. Now you are part of the first wave of arks arriving in Andromeda, our new home for humanity."

The doctor gently probed at his neck, checking the lymph nodes for swelling. "They make it sound so easy, don't they?"

Scott shrugged. "They say a lot of things. How do you feel about that 'new home for humanity' bit?"

She smiled easily. "So long as it's a new home for asari as well, it doesn't bother me a bit. And speaking of which, you're going to need to get started marking sure of that. Look here now." She waved her hand left to right, checking his pupil tracking.

That didn't sound good. "Oh?"

"The Pathfinder wants you all on your feet right away. He said 'mission ready within the hour.'"

"So that's why I get the doctor herself . . . any idea why?" he asked warily.

"No. But if I had to guess, you're 'adventure' is about to begin."

He managed, barely, not to groan out loud. Adventure, that was the _last_ thing he needed.

"Okay, everything checks out. No stasis shock for you, it seems. Just one more thing before I send you on your way. Let's test your Sam implant. Sam, are you monitoring?"

The AI didn't respond for a moment which, if you know anything about AI, is somewhat terrifying, and even more effective than the stimulant at getting his heart pumping. Somehow the asari wasn't fazed. "Sam, are you online?"

A com console lit up with a blue glow, indicating a connection with dad's masterpiece, and the last straw for the Council back home—the artificial intelligence known as Sam.

"Yes, Dr. T'Perro. Good morning, Ryder. Are you feeling well?" asked the AI's almost painfully mild voice.

"I feel like a 600-year-old popsicle."

"Readings confirmed. Based on the levels of adenosine in your system, the neural implant is functioning properly."

 _Wait . . . was Sam trying to rile me up just to test the implant?_

Dr. T'Perro looked up from the readouts. "It just means you're still shaking off your nap. No reason we can't get you on your way."

Scott was still woozy, but he was pretty sure that constituted an _excellent_ reason not to send him on his merry way into the unknown, but of course, this was dad asking, and dad always got what he wanted in the end.

Dr. T'Perro tapped his shoulder and nudged him back to his feet once more. "Though you may want to wait for a moment while we revive your sister. It always helps to see a familiar fa—"

The ship groaned. There really wasn't a better way to describe the sound as thousands of tons of ship superstructure suddenly came under strain. The lights flickered once, then the entire ship buckled as something hit it. Scott went down, as did pretty much everyone else, with more than a few screams.

What the hell? He scrambled up to his knees just as gravity started to shift and a huge stasis pod slid his way. He had just enough time to brace himself when the gravity cut out completely. The stasis pod bounced off the floor and just missed clipping him, and then it was Scott's turn to float up, caught in empty space, out of reach of everything.

Scott didn't like danger, he wasn't the grizzled soldier his father was, or the adrenaline junkie Sara was, but they'd dragged him along in their wake enough times that he had developed one skill—he could think, clearly and quickly, under pressure. Of course, that didn't stop Sara laughing her butt off afterwards as the adrenaline wore off, his hands started shaking, and he tried (usually successfully, thank you very much) not to throw up.

So he thought.

The strain on the ship, plus the shift in gravity, meant that they'd come close to something, something massive that had tried to capture the Hyperion in its orbit. The impact though . . . they were moving at, quite literally, astronomical speed even after the ship flipped end for end and spent the last decade braking. If they'd hit something solid, and big enough to have that kind of gravity, the ship would be nothing more than microscopic particles. So whatever they'd hit, it wasn't solid. A gas field, maybe? It wasn't clear how hitting a gas field would be just a single impact, though. And if it was gas, it must be stupendously huge, as in, span the distance between planets kind of big.

The doctor grabbed his leg, the only thing in reach, and clung to it. "What's going on?"

 _Like I have any idea._ "Just . . . just hang on."

A technician close to the door hit the emergency access panel and responded to the bridge. "Gravity in cryo bay is offline."

And that was it. After the initial panic, something very like calm was restored despite the fact that they were all probably about to die. Even the doctor was now floating calmly. _Nutters, the lot of them._

His thoughts were put on hold as the door to the rest of the ship opened and a woman floated through, propelling herself with the deft little almost unconscious adjustments born from lots and lots of zero-g experience. Proficient in zero-g movement, probably combat trained. Blonde hair cropped short on one side, combed over on the other, just short enough not to get in the way in a helmet, or in zero-g. White uniform with blue sleeves, like Scott's own, meant Pathfinder team.

She nodded to the technician and took his spot at the emergency access panel. She looked at it for a few second, then spoke into her omnitool. "This is Cora, I'm at the cry bay. Brace for gravity reset."

 _Cora Harper, Pathfinder second in command._ As she was likely going to be his immediate superior, he rather wished he'd had a chance to read further into her file than that, but that's what he got for thinking he could actually break free of dad's orbit.

The gravity generators hummed back to life and Scott flopped unceremoniously to the deck. Dr. T'Perro, and Cora, of course, landed gracefully on their feet.

Cora looked out across the room at the groaning crew picking themselves up and started to sort through the chaos of knocked over beds, banged up instruments, and treating skin splattered by scalding coffee. "Everyone alright?"

When nobody immediately answered she scanned the room once more and locked on to Ryder's pathfinder uniform.

Scott, yet again, dragged himself to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. Time to take the offensive before any smart remarks. "What happened?"

Cora glanced at the surrounding people, then stepped closer and lowered her voice. "We're not sure. Sensors are scrambled. But it's good to see you're up. It feels like centuries since we spoke."

That joke was going to get old very fast. Fortunately, he was spared from having to respond to that particular witticism by the cryo-bay's PA system.

"This is the Pathfinder. Mission teams, continue preparations. Cora, Ryders, report to the bridge."

Cora nodded. "You heard him, let's get—"

Her voice cut off and Scott turned to see what had caught her attention and froze. The banged dup stasis pod that had nearly crushed him was Sara's. Two technicians were trying to get it functioning. And failing.

 _Oh no._

One of them looked over at him and swallowed. "Uh, we may have a problem here."

Cora and the doctor darted over immediately. "Well?"

"It looks like some sort of power surge hit the stasis pod."

Scott just stood there, dumbfounded. Sara . . . that was impossible. Sara was . . . this whole thing was practically tailor made for her. She was the indestructible, happy-go-lucky adrenaline junky, and the, well, the unofficial translator between him and dad. She was crazy enough to get dad, and just barely sane enough to get him, too. Since mom's death she'd been the only thing holding them together. Without her . . .

He shook his head, trying to avoid the sudden surge of panic. "Is . . . is she okay?"

Dr. T'Perro looked up from the pod quickly at the quaver in his voice. "Scott, look at me, look at me, good. Scott, Sara is find. She's okay. Her vitals are strong. The revival procedure was interrupted, that's all, and the pod locked her in a coma as a precaution."

"I . . . that doesn't sound good."

"Don't worry, Scott, she's fine. It just means the process could take longer than usual. Sam?"

The AI's voice echoed from the com node. "My connection with Sara's implant was suspended. However, her pulse, respiration, and brain activity are all normal."

The doctor nodded. "The safest way now is to let her slowly awake naturally. The pod will let go of the induced coma when she's ready. Scott . . . she'll be fine."

He gave himself another shake. "Right . . . yeah. She'll be fine. Good to hear it."

Cora nodded towards the doctor. "Thanks, Lexi. Keep us updated. Ryder, I'll . . . wait for you at the door, whenever you're ready to go."

That, the hesitation from the super-professional-robot-soldier Cora, finally brought him back to the present. She was tiptoeing around him, uncertain how to deal with him. She thought he was compromised . . . unreliable. "No, no, I'm fine. Let's go." He followed in Cora's footsteps, trying not to listen while the doctor and technicians spoke quickly, with words like 'intravenous line' and 'cardiac arrest.' Cora moved through the chaos quickly towards the door and they stepped past the propaganda board where Jien Larson, the Andromeda Initiative's founder, smiled down on their first casualties.

Things didn't get better outside. More staff, a surprising number, really, hustled around. Scott cast an anxious glance at a small team swarming over a smoking generator powering the cryo bay, but they seemed to have it under control. From there it was a short walk to the tramway at the Hyperion's heart. Thankfully, it seemed to be intact.

The tram ride towards the bridge passed in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. Without more information, there was no point freaking himself out speculating about what was happening, and he definitely wasn't going to think about Sara without having a panic attack, so instead he focused on his fellow Pathfinder Team member and pulled up her file.

Cora Harper, ex-Alliance officer, jumped ship at Lieutenant. Very little on family or life before joining up at 18. She'd served in some Council Initiative called the Valkyrie Program, though there wasn't much that wasn't classified on that. All-around excellent soldier, if a bit . . . rigid. She and dad must get along just great.

The tram eased to a stop and opened to the bridge, which unlocked and opened as the door read their omnitool's clearances. The bridge itself was tense, filled with anxious officers hunched over the still-functioning consoles at their stations, not-quite-shouting reports back and forth. He caught things like "sensors down" and "drifting," then tuned it out. Those were the only important parts—blind and helpless. That, and dad was ahead.

"Sam, we need eyes out there."

The AI's near-monotone cut through the bridge chatter. "Attempting to adjust sensor arrays."

Captain Dunn, the non-nonsense woman presiding over the chaos, cast dad a sharp look. "Alec, you may be Pathfinder, but this is _my_ ship."

 _Trying to take over already, are we dad? Didn't take you long._

The tough-as-nails ex-N7 marine didn't back down an inch. "Captain, the protocol is clear. In the absence of communications with the Nexus or the other Arks, we proceed to our appointed golden world. _Solid ground._ "

That was not good. Proceeding independently to the assigned golden world was right above eating non-essential personnel on the contingency planning list. They had the supplies and population to make it work alone, just barely. In theory.

 _And this is the best option? Oh, and typical dad, what the hell did that have to do with having Sam override the sensor arrays?_

Captain Dunn must not have known him well, because she fell for the distraction hook, line, and sinker.

"If it's even out there. Nobody said anything about running into an energy cloud—and that's just a wild guess about what we hit."

The sensor readouts popped back up, and everyone took a moment to just look. They were surrounded by . . . _something_. It was, quite literally, astronomically huge. It seemed to be absorbing light and energy judging by its amorphous, probably gaseous state, and utter blackness. And yet, there seemed to be activity of some sort, bits of burnt-orange energy? Radiation?

Dunn shook her head and turned to face dad squarely. "Alec, I need to assess the damage and stop the bleeding. We've got 20,000 helpless people asleep on the ship."

Cora nudged him and whispered, "Hard to blame her."

Oh no. He knew better than to get involved in this, not when dad was in the same solar system. He always heard. And when he didn't, he found out.

Cora kept digging. "I mean, she is the captain, so I guess she gets the final word—"

"This _isn't_ about having the final word," dad cut in sharply.

 _Called it._

Cora snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

She was rescued by a sensor tech. "Ma'am, we're getting something through the cloud. Putting it up on screen now."

And there it was. A beat up, battered, broken down planet. The Pathfinder was unperturbed. "Is this it? Confirm that this is Habitat 7."

"Confirmed," noted Sam mildly. "This is New Earth."

"If we're lucky," muttered Alec. "Give me planetary readings."

"The energy from the phenomena is interfering with our sensors. Planetary conditions are unknown."

He turned, his gaze sweeping across the bridge, drawing every eye.

 _Here it comes. Sorry Captain, but dad never loses._

"We're marooned, 20,000 souls adrift at sea. And when the power runs out and stays out . . . we need to know if that's safe harbor."

Dunn made a show of it, at least. "And if it's not?"

"As Pathfinder, it's my job to find an alternative. It's what I and my team trained for . . . but if this goes well, we're already home."

Finally, Dunn gave in to the inevitable. "Alright. Just make it quick."

"Harper, the rest of the team should be awake by now. Have them spin up two shuttles. Planetfall in thirty."

Harper saluted again. "Yes, sir."

Dad took off in his not-quite-a-jog quick-march, and Harper took off after him, chattering orders into her omnitool.

Scott was content to let them get a lead on him. If he was lucky, he'd get to sit in the second shuttle. Meanwhile, Captain Dunn watched the Pathfinder leave with a look of exasperation she quickly masked, then glanced over at Scott and spoke quietly. "A stubborn one, isn't he?"

Ah yes, back in the familiar role of damage control, trying to hold everything together as dad did his thing. "He cares in his own way, enough to give him a chance."

Dunn pursed her lips, then offered a little nod. "I suppose you're right. He _is_ our Pathfinder, after all. If this doesn't work out, we'll need him more than ever." Then she dismissed the concern and turned back to her crew, requesting status updates and diving back into the mammoth task of reasserting control over the floundering vessel.

Well, no more delaying the inevitable. Back to the tram. It was time to take his first steps in Andromeda. Somehow, the thought didn't make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 **A/N: I have a strange relationship with MEA. The game is poorly designed, shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the interplay between the ME series' core design pillars, is a patched-together quilt of at least two different overall designs, with iffy writing, and is buggier than a Bethesda launch . . . and yet it's still so much fun to play! More than anything, the writing suffers being second fiddle to a single-player MMO. Well, now I have the chance to remove the MMO portion and focus on the writing and criminally underdeveloped characters.**

 **Just FYI, I try to respond to every review I receive. So drop me a review or PM if you want to discuss ME, video games in general, law, literary theory, philosophy, etc. etc.**

 **Also, for those of you (semi-)patiently waiting for progress on my other stories, yes, I am still working on them. Sometimes I just run into a wall and need to work on something else for a bit to get some forward momentum again.**


	2. Landfall

**Chapter 2: Landfall**

Scott stepped into the ready room and saw about half the Pathfinder team still suiting up. Dad, thankfully, was already gone, headed for the hangar. Cora, also ready to go, was waiting for him. Dad's orders, no doubt.

"Hey. Glad to see Captain Dunn didn't hold you up too long."

He nodded at Cora, stepping into the room and taking in the energy and excitement before his eyes settled on Sara's locker. "Sara's going to hate that she missed this."

Cora smiled hesitantly. "Are all the Ryder's adrenaline junkies?"

Scot shrugged. "Two of us, at least. Sara beat me into the world by one minute—couldn't wait to get started and follow in dad's footsteps, I guess. Me, well… I prefer to keep my risk of cardiac arrest as low as possible. Or as low as I can keep it with my family, at least."

"Well, I'm sure she will pull through then. The chance to explore a whole new galaxy? She wouldn't miss it."

She was trying to cheer him up, and despite how transparent it was it still made him feel a bit better. And more to the point, she was right. He needed to set aside Sara for the moment and focus on the vital, dangerous task at hand. He may not have wanted to come here, but that didn't mean he didn't need a home just as much as everyone else on the ark now that they were here. He nodded firmly. "You're right. And when she's back, she'll want stories."

Cora clapped him on the shoulder approvingly. "So let's get out there and find her some."

He stepped past her and pulled open his locker to start pulling on his Pathfinder-issue space suit. Each piece went on over his rubber cat suit, latching and sealing to each other. It wasn't quite like any other suit he'd ever worn. It had started life as a fairly standard space suit, rated for hard vacuum, and then they'd started adding things. A stronger radiation shield, a coating to protect against acid and flames, a bigger oxygen supply and better CO2 filters, and even some light combat armor.

It didn't compare to an Alliance hard suit, of course, but it was better than nothing, and it had a lot more range and life support than any Alliance armor ever made.

As he pulled on the chest piece and checked the connections on autopilot his mind reviewed the Pathfinder manual. Their job was absurdly broad, something no serious planner would ever sign off on giving to a single unit. They were supposed to verify the golden world targets, map and explore unknown territory (both planetary and celestial), perform scientific analysis of any phenomena discovered, make first contact with any alien species, establish and support diplomatic relations with those alien species, and provide 'general support' for the colonies. It was like someone took a heavily romanticized vision of ancient cowboys and threw them into space. _I guess some things about humanity never change._

Kirkland and Greer were finished up and talking quietly. "Ever done anything like this?"

"No… I guess that's why I'm here. It's a chance to do something new… and pretty crazy."

Scott rolled his eyes. _You can say that again, Kirkland_.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. If you'd told me I'd be one of the first people to set foot in Andromeda… well…"

Scott finished his checks. If he was going to be risking his life with these crazies, he might as well say hello. He took a step closer to the pair, who looked up at him. "Hey Ryder."

"It's Kirkland, right?"

"Yeah, I think we met once just before the Hyperion left the construction yards. Not sure if you know Greer?"

"Hey, nice to meet you." Scott held out a gloved hand and they shook.

For all Greer's nervousness, the man had a firm grip. "Good to meet you. Did your dad say anything about what's going on?"

Ryder shrugged uncomfortably. "Tough to say. Sensors can't get a read on the planet, and heavy cloud cover means no visual."

Greer grinned nervously. "Well, at least it keeps things interesting."

Kirkland chuckled. "Yeah, it would be a shame to go through all this training and not put it to good use."

Scott couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The pause started to stretch, so Scott cleared his throat. "Okay then, see you guys on the way down." He stepped away and heard them start talking again behind him.

"No sensor coverage, huh? It'll be flying by the seat of our pants."

"This is how Neil Armstrong felt!"  
"Yeah, except he didn't have twenty thousand people waiting for him to find a place to land. Besides, the Pathfinder will be first onto the planet."

Scott left them behind and stepped over to the weapons locker, where Fisher was carefully checking his M-3 Predator. They were solid, reliable weapons, originally made by Elanus Risk Control, but they weren't very effective against shields, which made the Alliance look elsewhere. Their reliability made them very popular out in the terminus where expensive shielding systems were less common. And from the looks of it, the Initiative had scooped up a fair number of them when nobody was looking.

He picked one up, feeling the weight of it, then attached it to his waist harness via the built-in magnetic clamp. He checked that the ammo block was full, slid a handful of thermal clips into the harness pouches, and he was good to go.

Of course, the fact that they weren't going to bother testing them at all, much less sighting them after a few hundred years in storage, told you everything you needed to know about the Initiative's jump-first-plan-second attitude. Though maybe the fact that the clock was ticking on humanity's extinction in this galaxy had something to do with it.

"Hey Ryder."

"Hey Fisher, how's it going?"

Fisher glanced around the room quietly and lowered his voice. "I heard a rumor from the bridge that your dad and the captain aren't seeing eye to eye on this."

Scott kept the smile fixed to his face. Word sure traveled fast. "Well," he started carefully, "she wasn't thrilled with the idea of this expedition, but dad won her over."

Fisher nodded knowingly. "I'm glad she came around. Your dad's the N7 here—he's got the most experience. And the best aim. I go where he goes."

 _What is this, are we picking sides now? Proclaiming loyalty in case of infighting? That's a bad sign._

"Right. Well, I'm gonna hit the rock and head on down. See you soon."

Fisher nodded and turned back to his weapon. Scott breathed a sigh of relief and moved over to stand next to the good-luck rock, positioned next to the door and worn down by the slap of many hands heading out to the field. The solid chunk of granite had saved dad from a deadly fall while mountain climbing years back, and he'd hauled it around with him ever since. Scott had often wondered just how different his life would have been if it had not been for that rock. Certainly, he wouldn't be in this galaxy. On the other hand, he'd have died centuries ago, too. So…

He shrugged and gave the worn stone a quick rub.

Cora called out across the room. "Alright people, let's wrap it up and head down."

Scott took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway and onto the tram while the rest of the team piled in behind him. They were a tense, uncomfortable, silent bunch on the ride. After a ride that was somehow both way too short and far too long, they stumbled out into the hangar where two UT-47 Kodiak drop shuttles were being spun up by a handful of techs while the Pathfinder stalked restlessly in front of the rest of the team. They were both surprisingly small and tough, those shuttles, and packed to the gills with test equipment meant that crew and irreplaceable equipment would be crammed in there together like so much cargo.

Cora walked next to him, talking quietly, still trying to get his head in the game, and he wondered why she bothered. He might be the Pathfinder's son, but he was well below her on the totem pole, and it took about five seconds in Alec Ryder's presence to realize there was exactly zero nepotism happening there. Well, aside from dragging his kids around his wake, that was. What was she playing at?

It didn't for a moment occur to him that she might also be nervous. That just wasn't who she was.

"So, just another day at the office, huh?"

Scott glanced sideways at her. Sarcasm? "Not exactly. It's one part exciting, three parts dangerous."

Cora nodded. "I know what you mean. I always wondered what it was like when old-time explorers crossed the ocean. Nothing but stars and dead reckoning to guide them."

Now _that_ was unexpected. Super-soldier Cora had a touch of a romantic side? But more to the point, someone as practical as she was had to know those ancient mariners ran one hell of a lot of risks. "And don't forget the map with 'here there be dragons.'"

She rolled her eyes, conceding the point. "Yes, well, if they made it, then we can, too. And maybe see a dragon along the way."

Scott half-feigned a shudder trying not to think of all the agonizing, gruesome ways many of those early explorers died. "And on that note, we're here."

The Pathfinder caught sight of them as they stepped into his orbit and he marched over, turning to have a quiet word with Cora while Scott made a break for it in the opposite direction, where he was surprised to see Dr. Harry Carlyle, one of the ark's senior doctors, double checking a cannister of medical supplies.

"Dr. Carlyle? With everything going on, I'd think the ark needs you more than we do."

The doctor clamped the cannister's lid shut and stood, settling the Pathfinder space suit uncomfortably into place. "The Pathfinder wants a medic on hand. And if that is home down there, I'm happy to knock on the door."

A hand latched onto Scott form behind, and he turned to see dad hadn't let him get away that easily. "I heard what happened. Your sister's strong, she'll make it."

Scott forced a smile onto his face and tried to come up with something suitably insane that Sara would have said. "We bet on who's boots would hit the ground first. This isn't how I wanted to win." He just happened to forget to mention he'd been betting on her.

The Pathfinder seemed to approve of the sentiment. "Well, knowing Sara, she'll want to go double or nothing on who climbs the tallest mountain. Don't let it get you down. I need you sharp." Uncharacteristically, he hesitated half a beat. "Your mom would have been proud. Of both of you."

And with as much mushiness as either of them could handle, he pulled away and looked back at the rest of the hangar.

"Okay team, listen up! I chose each of you for the Pathfinder team, not just because you're talented and passionate, but because you're dreamers like me."

Scott snorted quietly. _Here we go_. If dad heard it, he ignored it.

"We dream of exploring the unknown, of finding the edge of the map, and discovering what lies beyond. When people look back on this, and they will, they'll remember that we didn't give up. That we kept dreaming. That our few first stumbling steps in Andromeda were the beginning of everything they know. We only get one chance to be first, so let's go make history."

He turned and boarded a shuttle, Cora right behind him. Scott waited a second, then turned and stepped onto the second shuttle. Another team member, this one with darker skin and dreadlocks cut just short enough to fit in a helmet, slipped into the seat next to his and started strapping in with a grin. "Been waiting six hundred years for this."

Scott sighed.

After a final check the Kodiaks rumbled to life and lifted into the air while the Pathfinder's voice echoed through communications.

"Ark Hyperion, this is Shuttle One, shifting to manual guidance."

Kirkland's voice followed. "Shuttle Two, following your lead."

Captain Dunn spoke next on an all-bands announcement. "Good luck, Pathfinder team."

The shuttles set into motion, carefully picking their way through the hangar and towards open space and every crew member fitted and sealed their helmets. They were really going to do this.

Scott settled deeper into his chair. Well, there were some benefits to flying commercial, as it were. For one thing, the seats were far more comfortable than on the military models. On top of that, the inside of the Kodiak's gull-wing doors had been fitted with large displays linked directly to the shuttle's exterior sensors to show a startlingly vivid image of the surrounding space. Beyond that, they'd also removed the bulkhead separating the pilot from the rest of the interior, though Scott wasn't quite sure why. Still, it made it easier to hear Fisher muttering into his mic while he flew.

"Turning to vector one-three-five."

"Copy that, we're on point Shuttle Two."

Dreadlocks stared out their 'window' and gasped. "Wow, will you look at that?"

Scott couldn't blame him. The view was incredible. The massive ark ship Hyperion had come to a complete stop, its side enmeshed in some sort of burnt-orange energy field. "Whatever it is, it stopped the Hyperion in its tracks."

 _ **It appears to be an unstable mass of dark energy.**_

Scott shrugged, most of the motion lost in the bulk of his suit. "If you say so, SAM."

The Pathfinder cut in sharply. "Steer clear of that energy field Shuttle Two."

They continued on for some time, skirting well clear of the randomly jutting spears of energy as they made their approach on the planet still blanketed by heavy cloud cover.

Fisher grunted as they started their final approach and the shuttle trembled. "Getting some chop here."

 _ **Gravity anomalies detected.**_

Kirkland, in the co-pilot seat, chimed in. "I'll see if I can even it out."

Greer, opposite Scott, grumbled under his breath. "My stomach would appreciate it."

"Alright, we're clear. Accelerating back to cruising speed."

In an effort to keep from dwelling on exactly how many ways this could all go horribly wrong, Scott looked over at the team member he didn't know. "Hey, not sure if I caught your name."

The man reached out awkwardly through the restraints and shook his gloved hand. "It's Ryder, right? Yeah, we didn't have a chance to meet back in the Milky Way. Name's Liam Kosta, security and response specialist."

"Good to meet you, Liam."

"Yeah…" Liam nodded towards the display. "Hard to believe we're finally doing this."

Scott did his best to smile, hiding his own uncertainty. "I guess it beats reading the brochures."

Fisher cut back in. "Beginning deceleration for planetary insertion. Hang on back there, initiating atmospheric entry."

Scott gripped the restraints tightly as the turbulence kicked into high gear. The display showed fiery clouds of very displeased atmosphere before going completely blank.

Liam grinned. "Here we go!"

Fisher swore, his voice dropping into the inflectionless blank that every fight pilot seemed to use when they were in serious trouble. "Flight guidance is scrambled."

"It'll pass," muttered Kirkland.

"Controls are fighting me."

 _ **Adjust approach vector three degrees starboard.**_

The turbulence cut back a notch and Fisher breathed a sigh of relief, while Scott tried to choke back down the bile that had been rising.

Cora's disciplined voice cut through the chatter. "Shuttle Two, confirm our negative visual readings."

Scott gave himself a mental shake. The pilot's job was flying—his was looking. He took a look at the display as it blinked back on and winced. Lightning crackled across the sky almost constantly, and huge jagged rock formations were everywhere. There was no evidence of plant life or water. He keyed his com. "Copy that, Shuttle One. Visual is negative for golden world."

Kirkland chimed back in, the tension back in his voice. "Ionization levels are spiking."

"Pathfinder to shuttles, stay on course, I am feeding you coordinates to the most likely landing zone."

Fisher swore again as they flew past what looked like a mountain of rock just… just floating in the air, with crackling electricity arcing between major chunks. "Is this the right planet?"

"Cut chatter, team." Alec Ryder's voice cut him off abruptly, and Scott swallowed as he heard his father's command voice. They were in serious trouble.

Fisher spoke up again, his voice awed. "Shuttle One, confirm visual port side of a structure."

"Confirm visual, Shuttle Two," spoke Cora briskly. "Angular structuring and stability despite uneven load distribution indicate advanced engineering."

"Hyperion, this is the Pathfinder. We have confirmed evidence of an alien civilization. Pathfinder Team stick to First Contact protocol. No use of force unless hostile intent is clear."

The shuttle bucked wildly, and sparks cascaded off the display above Scott's head.

"Shit, ionization spiked again."

The turbulence ratcheted up again and all Scott could do was clench his teeth and hold on. Another huge jolt wracked the shuttle and this time the gull-wing door locking mechanism sheered straight through. The door swung open and immediately ripped clean off under immense wind resistance, taking a chunk of the bulkhead with it. Liam's crash chair wobbled, only half attached to the shuttle.

"Ryder!" he screamed, just as the crash chair tore free completely. Liam was launched into the sky, and the chair clipped Scotts on the way out. The shuttle was falling now, forced into a flat spin by its ruined aerodynamics. The skin was pulled back on Scott's face as the lateral G's crashed home, and his crash chair, damaged by the impact from Liam, ripped out with a shriek of metal and he was thrust out into open space.

The small computer in Scott's crash chair remained undamaged, however, and detached the restraints holding him, giving him a chance to use his jump jet to save himself.

He forced himself to breathe and spread his limbs, stabilizing his flight and stopping the spin. His heard felt like it was thumping out of his chest as he frantically waved his arms, adjusting his flight path to avoid huge, crackling boulders in the sky.

 _ **Acceleration decreasing to terminal velocity.**_

"No kidding!"

 _ **Your jump jet is malfunctioning.**_

"Well, fix it!" he gasped, twisting his legs and avoiding instant death by floating mountain by about two meters.

 _ **Approaching terminal velocity.**_

A huge mass of land was swiftly approaching now, maybe even the ground. "Saaaaam!"

The jump jet on his back sputtered to life, firing fitfully, and he abruptly slowed, but not enough. He hit the almost vertical side of a mountain and slid down, completely out of control until he slammed to a halt.

He hurt all over, but a sharp hissing immediately captured his complete attention. "Ah, shit." Several cracks along his faceplate spiderwebbed out from a significant crack, and the suit's oxygen warnings blared. He pulled up the omnitool imbedded in his left arm and triggered the emergency protocols, frantically keying in the command to manufacture suit sealant from the (very) limited supply of materials surgically implanted in his arm. He held the omnitool up to his face and slowly, sloooowly moved it across the crack, spraying the instantly hardening, transparent sealant across the damaged faceplate.

The waring alarms clicked off, and his arms collapsed to his sides. He just lay there for long seconds, breathing hard and trying to decide if the stabbing pain in his side meant broken ribs, or just cracked.

 _Welcome to Andromeda_.


End file.
